people have been killed.”
Macey closed her eyes slowly and then reopened them. “I heard it. The gunfire. Like Iraq.” She closed her eyes again briefly. “Who?”
“We don’t know,” said Foote. “Do you remember anything?”
Gomez chipped in. “When we found you, you said something about black buzzards.”
“I said that? Don’t remember. They were King Airs; painted black. Two of them. Looked like buzzards. Maybe that’s what I meant. They came in low from the south – real low – avoiding radar.” Macey again swallowed with some difficulty, her lips cracked, swollen, burned. Foote took the glass of water with a straw in it off the breakfast tray pushed back against the wall. She held the straw to Macey’s lips and the patient took a few sips, after which her head fell exhausted back onto the pillows. “I heard the shooting,” she repeated, tears growing in the corners of her eyes.
Foote rested a hand on her shoulder. “Did you see anyone?”
“No. Heard the gunfire and started running.”
“Away from it?” Matheson asked.
“Toward it.”
I was pretty sure I knew which direction Matheson would’ve headed.
“What were you doing way out there?” Cruz asked.
“Had some time before the charter arrived. Went for a walk … wanted to look at the stars.” Macey scowled, a sudden thought occurring to her. “Gartner, Rick Gartner. Is he … ?”
“He’s alive,” said Foote.
He was, yes, at least technically. But I agreed with the Chief’s half-truth. Knowing your partner’s dead – or close to it – doesn’t help all that much when you’re alive and kicking, relatively speaking, and aren’t sure if you have the right to be.
“We were going to Disneyland, taking a young family.”
Macey must have read something in Chief Foote’s face. “Did they kill the family?”
“The Sorwicks?” said Foote.
Macey nodded.
“Yes, they did.”
The pilot’s forehead became a brace of deep, parallel lines. Her eyes closed and the lines disappeared and she appeared to drift off to sleep. But then she said, as if from a rapidly increasing distance, “How many people did they kill?”
“‘They’ – you keep saying ‘they’,” Cruz said. “Who’s they?” The lieutenant was hoping to coax something more from the only potential witness we had, but the Learjet pilot was snuggled up to the poppy.
“Ms Macey?” Foote prompted. She gave the pilot’s shoulder a gentle shake, but got nothing in return.
Doc Monroe arrived. She opened the door to the room and held it open, leaning against it, her body language saying, “Okay, everyone out.”
Foote, Matheson and Cruz held an impromptu meeting in the hospital parking lot, Gomez and I spectating.
“We’re going to have to go public,” said Foote.
“I agree,” Matheson agreed, happy to let the Chief Deputy take the lead now, and any career bullets later.
“I think we should wait until we have some idea about who did this and why,” said Cruz.
“You heard the doctor, Carlos,” Foote reminded him. “There are rumors. If we don’t fill the vacuum someone else will. It’s already a media circus.” She put a hand to her forehead and smoothed the hair back from her temples. “Look, more than anything, we need to make some progress. If you’ve got any ideas, Matt, let’s hear ’em. We need to claw something back here, and fast.”
Matt Matheson? Even the guy’s name lacked imagination. I felt sorry for the Chief. She was doing her best, but it was like watching someone attempting to start a car with a dead battery on a cold morning.
Matheson stroked his chin, said nothing, no current in the wires.
“So what do we know?” Foote asked, looking at everyone in turn, including Gomez and me. “An unknown number of assailants flew in to Horizon Airport before dawn this morning, and killed everyone they could find. Only two people are known to have survived. Automatic and semi-automatic weapons were used …”
“We’ve
Macey closed her eyes slowly and then reopened them. “I heard it. The gunfire. Like Iraq.” She closed her eyes again briefly. “Who?”
“We don’t know,” said Foote. “Do you remember anything?”
Gomez chipped in. “When we found you, you said something about black buzzards.”
“I said that? Don’t remember. They were King Airs; painted black. Two of them. Looked like buzzards. Maybe that’s what I meant. They came in low from the south – real low – avoiding radar.” Macey again swallowed with some difficulty, her lips cracked, swollen, burned. Foote took the glass of water with a straw in it off the breakfast tray pushed back against the wall. She held the straw to Macey’s lips and the patient took a few sips, after which her head fell exhausted back onto the pillows. “I heard the shooting,” she repeated, tears growing in the corners of her eyes.
Foote rested a hand on her shoulder. “Did you see anyone?”
“No. Heard the gunfire and started running.”
“Away from it?” Matheson asked.
“Toward it.”
I was pretty sure I knew which direction Matheson would’ve headed.
“What were you doing way out there?” Cruz asked.
“Had some time before the charter arrived. Went for a walk … wanted to look at the stars.” Macey scowled, a sudden thought occurring to her. “Gartner, Rick Gartner. Is he … ?”
“He’s alive,” said Foote.
He was, yes, at least technically. But I agreed with the Chief’s half-truth. Knowing your partner’s dead – or close to it – doesn’t help all that much when you’re alive and kicking, relatively speaking, and aren’t sure if you have the right to be.
“We were going to Disneyland, taking a young family.”
Macey must have read something in Chief Foote’s face. “Did they kill the family?”
“The Sorwicks?” said Foote.
Macey nodded.
“Yes, they did.”
The pilot’s forehead became a brace of deep, parallel lines. Her eyes closed and the lines disappeared and she appeared to drift off to sleep. But then she said, as if from a rapidly increasing distance, “How many people did they kill?”
“‘They’ – you keep saying ‘they’,” Cruz said. “Who’s they?” The lieutenant was hoping to coax something more from the only potential witness we had, but the Learjet pilot was snuggled up to the poppy.
“Ms Macey?” Foote prompted. She gave the pilot’s shoulder a gentle shake, but got nothing in return.
Doc Monroe arrived. She opened the door to the room and held it open, leaning against it, her body language saying, “Okay, everyone out.”
Foote, Matheson and Cruz held an impromptu meeting in the hospital parking lot, Gomez and I spectating.
“We’re going to have to go public,” said Foote.
“I agree,” Matheson agreed, happy to let the Chief Deputy take the lead now, and any career bullets later.
“I think we should wait until we have some idea about who did this and why,” said Cruz.
“You heard the doctor, Carlos,” Foote reminded him. “There are rumors. If we don’t fill the vacuum someone else will. It’s already a media circus.” She put a hand to her forehead and smoothed the hair back from her temples. “Look, more than anything, we need to make some progress. If you’ve got any ideas, Matt, let’s hear ’em. We need to claw something back here, and fast.”
Matt Matheson? Even the guy’s name lacked imagination. I felt sorry for the Chief. She was doing her best, but it was like watching someone attempting to start a car with a dead battery on a cold morning.
Matheson stroked his chin, said nothing, no current in the wires.
“So what do we know?” Foote asked, looking at everyone in turn, including Gomez and me. “An unknown number of assailants flew in to Horizon Airport before dawn this morning, and killed everyone they could find. Only two people are known to have survived. Automatic and semi-automatic weapons were used …”
“We’ve
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